Meeting Beatrice
by metro.max
Summary: Lemony meets Beatrice. Lemony meets Beatrice again. [oneshot, spoilers for TE and TBL]


**Disclaimer: **Fortunately, neither of the Beatrices, the first or the second, belong to me. However, their persons in _A Series of Unfortunate Events _do belong to Mr. Lemony Snicket, of whom I have the pleasure of not owning, which would be quite awkward if I did.

**Author's Notes: **Hello! This is my first ASoUE story, and I'm quite glad to finally get it out here! I've always wanted to write an ASoUE fic and now it's finally here!

I hope you like it and please leave a **review. **I love criticism!

Alisa

_

* * *

_

_Meeting Beatrice_

There are many times in one's life that one wishes one hadn't done a particular action or said a certain thing, and unless one has the ability to travel back in time and prevent one's self from doing the particular action or saying the certain thing — and even then, it can be very risky — one is left with the consequences of one's actions, no matter how dreadful or embarrassing or uncomfortable. Perhaps if you are lucky, a phrase which here means "being sharp enough to pause and think before doing a particular action or saying a certain something that could cause later dreadfulness, embarrassment, or discomfort," you will pause and think before you do a particular action or say a certain something that could cause you later dreadfulness, embarrassment, or discomfort and so prevent yourself from later dreadfulness, embarrassment, or discomfort that would be sure to leave you with dread, embarrassment, and discomfort.

At the current moment, which just happened to be afternoon recess, Lemony Snicket was feeling nothing _but_ dreadful, embarrassed, and uncomfortable. That morning during third period, he had sent a note to the girl he had embarrassed earlier in front of her friends, Beatrice. Not only had he apologized in the correspondence, a word here which means "note," but he had also asked her to join him for a root beer float at a good café nearby. As he shuffled his feet and adjusted his green necktie, he couldn't help but wonder what he was possibly thinking when he had written that memorandum, a word which here means "correspondence."

But as you and I and Lemony all know, once you do that particular action or say that certain something, there's no way to stop the ball from rolling, a phrase which in Lemony's case means that Lemony would not be able to stop Beatrice from coming even if he wanted to, nor would he be able to stop her from showing his note to all of her friends, which would be a very cruel and inconsiderate thing to do in the first place, but also something that Beatrice wouldn't do.

In a rare burst of optimism, a word commonly used to describe people who put too much faith in the world, Lemony decided to hope for the best, in which case Beatrice would be here any minute and all his dread and embarrassment and discomfort would have been for nothing, which is really much better than if it had actually been for something. But hoping for the best, like hoping that one of the desserts at a dinner party isn't concealing an intruder or hoping that your fiancée won't believe the lies _The Daily Punctilio_ printed about you, can only lead to disappointment.

Of course, Lemony could have been thinking about what would happen if worst came to worst, a phrase used opposite "hope for the best," in which case Beatrice wouldn't come and Lemony would choke on a maraschino cherry. But there was also the chance worst would come to second worst, and Lemony would have a root beer float by himself, and even that seemed much better than if worst came to worst.

Lemony hoped for the best as he adjusted his green necktie again and straightened the pin of his organization.

"I do hope you don't mind that I'm a bit late, Lemony," said a voice behind him, causing him to jump and look up. "Theatrics Class took longer than I had anticipated."

He smiled at her. "I don't mind at all, Beatrice."

For the first and last time in Lemony Snicket's life, hoping for the best had worked.

"I really don't mind at all."

* * *

There are many questions in life that simply cannot be answered, no matter how hard you stare at your mother's sister's niece's paper airplane collection or how many times you read your autobiography. For instance, I have no idea why my great aunt took the job of teaching six-year-old children when she could have kept her skydiving job, which was reasonably safer. I also have no idea why my mother bought the blender she did, of which I am still reading the instruction manual today. 

There are, of course, question which can be answered, such as "What does two plus two equal?" After years of intense testing involving several corn fields, a group of highly-trained mathematicians, and several chimpanzees, scientists can now safely say that two plus two will always equal four, unless in a game of golf, in which case no one is quite sure what it equals.

In Lemony Snicket's case, there are many questions that have unknown answers, or no answers at all, or both, or perhaps neither, though there is evidence suggesting against that. There are some questions that have been answered for Lemony, but even those are vague and use such large words and odd phrases that Lemony still isn't sure if they were being answered or it he was being asked if he would like some more iced tea.

But at the moment, Lemony wasn't addressing questions about his great aunt or her blender, or even what his opinion was on the question "What does two plus two equal?" At the moment, Lemony was addressing such questions as: Is she who I think she is? Is she who I don't think she is? What should I do? What shouldn't I do? What if I've already done something I shouldn't have done but didn't know I shouldn't have done it and did it anyway? If she is who I think she is, will she look like Kit?

Lemony was sitting with three of his companions and staring at the card that the waiter had delivered with his root beer float. It was from Beatrice Baudelaire. Or at least, it was from someone claiming to be Beatrice Baudelaire, and if it was from someone claiming to be Beatrice Baudelaire, and for all he knew, it could be, he still wasn't sure just which Beatrice Baudelaire the someone claiming to be Beatrice Baudelaire, the first or the second, was claiming to be.

Lemony took a sip of his root beer float and glanced at the corner table out of the corner of his eye where either the second Beatrice Baudelaire was sitting, or someone claiming to be Beatrice Baudelaire, the first or the second, he still wasn't sure which.

Lemony took another wary glance at the card, a phrase which here means "looked at the card with a fear as if it might explode at any moment." If the Beatrice Baudelaire at the corner table was who he thought she was, then Lemony would tuck the card in his pocket and walk over to her once he had finished his root beer float. But if she wasn't the Beatrice Baudelaire he thought she was, or not a Beatrice Baudelaire at all, then he would rip the card in half and hide at the nearest floral shop.

Lemony finally drained his glass, a phrase which here means "finished the root beer float he had been drinking, which had been the first, not the second, Beatrice Baudelaire's favorite drink, though he was sure it could be the second Beatrice Baudelaire's favorite drink as well." Bidding his companions adieu, a fancy term which means "good-bye," Lemony tucked the card into his pocket and walked over to Beatrice Baudelaire the second, or who he hoped was Beatrice Baudelaire the second.

"Are you who I think you are?" he asked.

She studied him for a moment. "I'm a baticeer looking for her family. Are _you_ who _I_ think you are?"

"I'm a rhetorical analyst looking for _his_ family."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. "Sit down, Mr. Snicket. We have a lot to discuss."

He pulled out the chair across from her and said, "You can call me Lemony, if you would prefer."

"And you can call me Beatrice."

Lemony smiled what felt like the first smile in over twenty-five years.

**FIN.**


End file.
